


Shoulder Freckles

by lynndyre



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Banter, Brothers, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-11
Updated: 2013-07-11
Packaged: 2017-12-19 03:11:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/878742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/pseuds/lynndyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For a kinkmeme prompt that boiled down to <i>I JUST WANT JOHN REMOVING A CHIP FROM BENEATH MYCROFT'S SHOULDER FRECKLES, IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK?</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Shoulder Freckles

"Ah, Doctor Watson. I wonder if I might request your expertise in a small matter of exploratory surgery."

"It is not exploratory surgery, it's one little cut. One nice deep little slice, so he can fish around for your little problem." 

John looked from one brother to the other. "I'm... not quite sure I understand what you're asking."

"He's been chipped, just like any good dog of the government, and he doesn't like the spying to go both ways." Sherlock smirked, and Mycroft made a little moue of distaste.

"...Quite."

"Right. Well. I'll just ... get my kit, then." The kit was where John had left it. The contents were not. "Sherlock, there was a topical anaesthetic in here."

"Was there? I needed the canister."

"Sherlock--"

Mycroft's eyebrows did a small dance of assessment and resignation. "Very well, I expect I can manage 'one little cut'. Since circumstances decree it."

Circumstances, (n) singular, starting with 'S' and ending in 'herlock'. John sighed at the back of Sherlock's laptop, all that was currently visible over the top of his tucked-in knees.

 

"Vest too, it'll save it getting pulled out of shape or bled on." John found a fresh blade for the scalpel, and unwrapped it. "Why didn't they go for the arm? It would have been an easier injection site."

"When were you in Australia, and how on earth did they convince you to take your shirt off?" John blinked, then realized Sherlock meant the freckles.

"New Zealand, actually. It was remarkably freeing, the knowledge that not a single person in the Southern Hemisphere was waiting to point and laugh at my swimming costume."

Sherlock huffed, and flopped back down in his chair. "Well done, John, you've discovered a new species, the British spotted whale. On second thought don't take the chip out, if we release it back into the wild the BBC can do a study."

John held the skin apart with the fingers of his right hand, and with his left swapped the scalpel for cotton wool, and then tweezers. "Sorry, no. We're not turning your brother into a doco."

John felt Mycroft's breathing growing shallower under his hands. 

"If you throw up on my rug you're replacing it. And if you pass out I'm using you to test the effects of ammonia inhalation."

"So kind of you." 

"Sherlock, shut it. Mycroft, head down and proper breaths. Stop watching the TV reflection while I put the stitches in, it's not helping you any."

"I can't believe the government trusts you with state secrets."

"Resisting torture requires a rather different mindset." Mycroft tilted his head back, eyes still closed, to rest for a moment against John's forearm. "And your good doctor is doing his best not to be torturous."

"We're nearly done here, Sherlock, could you make us some tea?" Sherlock pretended to be deaf, scowling into his laptop screen, until John continued, "The sooner he's back on his feet, the sooner he can leave."

The laptop thumped down immediately, and Sherlock stalked off to the kitchen muttering useless ingrates incapable of making their own drinks. John was leaning forward to trim the last of the stitches, or he wouldn't have caught Mycroft's low murmur.

"I know you are, but what am I?"

John sniggered, and taped down the dressing as gently as he could.


End file.
